


When the Door Stands Open

by bravevesperian



Series: The Golden Cage [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blowjobs, Frottage, It starts with murder, M/M, Master/Slave, hints at reincarnation things, only slightly dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevesperian/pseuds/bravevesperian
Summary: Purely self indulgent take on the idea of the Warrior of Light having been trafficked into Garlean slavery early in life.His meeting with the prince was written in the falling stars, either way.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: The Golden Cage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782736
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	When the Door Stands Open

**Author's Note:**

> This will hopefully be the first in a series.

He'd always wanted to see beyond the wall; the massive megalith that marked the place that the Garlean Empire had cruelly bisected the natural landscape. It was all at the behest of the Black Wolf: One Gaius Van Baelsar. He couldn't remember the view from before—he'd been too young when it'd happened. He knew about the place beyond: Gyr Abania. The twisting vines and leaves of the Black Shroud slowly gave way into the scrub of a dusty savannah and then a great, rocky country beyond it. Ala Mhigo—which hadn't known freedom for years already when it happened. 

Sapho'li was born to the Rasasiri clan under auspicious stars, under the sign of the Lord of Crowns. His gift with channeling powerful aether became evident at a young age and not only to those in his immediate vicinity. The eyes of the Seedseers were on him, and beyond that forces that neither factions knew. 

The Empire had stepped up its efforts to replicate the Echo—and to potentially unlock the ability to use magic: famously denied their race. Though the current Legatus cared little for such experiments, the royal family was another story. 

Sapho'li had always wanted to see the other side of the wall—but not like this. He was wedged uncomfortably among several other struggling bodies, the sounds of muffled wailing alone enough to curdle anyone's blood. He watched through metal grates on the side of the carriage; little more than a container the likes of which would usually be reserved for livestock as the scenery changed and shifted. It was dark. He could only see the shapes of the ancient trees fall away; but it was the loss of the sound of the voices of the Elementals falling away that disturbed him most. He had always known their voices, the feeling of the pull of their very life force as familiar as breathing. 

His small arms were too weak to stand any chance against the heavy manacles on his wrists, or the walls of the carriage itself. He cried out for his mother and his brothers, but got no response among the other captives. 

\---- 

The parts of the Ala Mhigan palatial residence that had been turned into facilities for magitek experimentation felt more winding and complex than the main palace itself. It seemed that over the years, the scientists had stuffed every dark nook and cranny of the pink sandstone hallways full of equipment and holding cells of every kind, for every type of man and beast. When the young prince of the Galvus family had set out to advocate for research on the Echo, this had been where he was told to begin his search. Aulus Mal Asina had proven to be quite useful—and he continued to make regular trips to the cavernous dungeons below. Why exactly he didn't know. Perhaps, he thought, it merely helped to quell his boredom while he was all but sequestered in the damnable city. 

He hated sitting still. Hated the red tape and bureaucratic nature of his position as acting Viceroy even more. Zenos felt as though he was famously denied the stimulation and entertainment that he needed to not go completely mad. His childhood had been nearly just as empty in all of the same ways. Stimulation—stimulation was what he needed, and hardly anything ever satisfied that longing. He thought of the pets he kept back in Ilsabard; of the adoring but positively boring eyes of Asahi Sas Brutus that would haunt him wherever he went when given the chance. There had to be more to it; something that gave life to an empty soul enamored by nightly dreams of a city being shattered—calamity after calamity relived in his mind. 

He only half gave a damn about the experiment he was told he'd be welcome to peer in on. Some new weapon being tested on a slave who had regenerative abilities that was disposable as any Eorzean savage might be. The ill-fated creature had proven too vicious to tame in his years among his countrymen, and now his current keepers had had enough. At least, he supposed, they didn't waste their trash. 

Zenos settled on a carved stone ledge, making it clear by his distance that he had no desire to engage with his fellow citizens milling about. They buzzed as men excited to watch bloodsport might; but Zenos found the act of sitting and watching nigh unbearable. Perhaps the weapon would prove to be one he might like to toy with learning. That was at least, a spark of interest he could hope for. 

He watched as one man stood in hypertuned armor not unlike that which he himself often wore, testing his limbs and grip. A few minutes passed before a door in one side of the sunken little arena swung open, and the lanky form of a man was cast out onto the packed sand in little more than rags. The first man was impossible to tell anything about. The other was something else. If he was anything like most subjects in this lab, he had been taken as a child and broken. Those who did not break were swiftly chewed up and spat out as corpses—but that seemed not to be the case here. 

Zenos watched him, crouched like a beast, his long hair wild and tangled as fierce eyes like violet lightning stalked the armored threat. He found himself sitting forward as the test subject's long tail flicked behind him, his ears pressing against his head. Much it took to quicken the pulse of Zenos Yae Galvus, but here he found himself nearly holding his breath. 

He was not disappointed. 

As the purported magitek blade the armored man wielded flashed forth, it seared a gash through the Miqo'te's shoulder. He snarled audibly, but a moment later a burst of white light showered him in aether. Zenos could've sworn he'd seen the shape of a flowe for a moment; a crystalline white lilly that appeared to soothe his wounds with its dew. He'd heard of this white magic, a hallmark of the Savages who dwelled in the Black Shroud's embrace. Some of their most valued conscripts and slaves boasted the skill though he knew little of it himself—and he'd never seen it so potent, so blatantly manifested. 

He watched the Miqo'te move suddenly—proof that he had it in him to dodge-- and flip to the side to miss a heavier blow. Zenos' mind whirled with strategy, putting reason to the tightly coiled man's every movement. He knew which blows he could risk taking and which he could not. 

Another he accepted, though it sent him careening through the air and into a pillar. He scrambled to get away, coughing and spluttering--- accompanied by another burst of light: Another silver-white lily burned into Zenos' eyes. It was then that he realized the beast was planning something; _waiting_ for something. 

The spectators began to grow agitated, as if they felt their man needed further encouragement. Calls for more blood and hoots and chants echoed back off of the stone. Zenos found his hands sliding down his thighs to rest on his knees as he leaned closer, enraptured in the way the poor bastard moved. It was a simple thing really, for beasts to fight to live. This one would do just that and eventually be cut down for his effort. A shame. 

Lithe and willowy, the Miqo'te danced away from the armor's strikes until he took another glancing blow that spilled blood onto the rosy sandstone floor. He cried out; a sound like song—and burst another surge of aether in the air that seared the wound closed. In that moment, Zenos saw it-- his cracked lips curl into what could only be called an animal grin. 

Before his opponent could move again, he thrust out his hand with a flourish, and a blinding light the color of blood burst into the room, arcs curling into the air and lingering as a horrible wailing filled the hall. The soldier tore himself from his armor, blood on his face, on his hands, his chest—blood everywhere, as if something had tried to burst him from the inside. 

Someone shouted: "Kill him!" 

But Zenos had already risen to his feet, carried as if he had no control over his own limbs. The room froze as he moved, his presence never forgotten even for a moment. 

"No. Wait." He raised his chin towards the beast, and then beckoned him closer. 

"You there. Tell me your name." 

His ears flicked, and he slowly straightened up into an almost respectable position. He was small; would hardly come up to the prince's chest if they were closer to each other. That hadn't stopped him out there. That was exactly what Zenos liked. 

"S-Sapho'li Rasasiri." A foreign sounding thing. He wasn't sure if he cared for it. No matter, he could change it later if he wished. 

"Do you know who I am?" The lab assistants had rushed in to help the bloodied soldier, but Zenos quickly turned and raised his hand to stop them again. 

"I came to see blood sport. Does this match look finished to you?" They stopped in their tracks, exchanging glances of trepidation. 

Sapho'li answered a moment later. "You're their prince. Zenos." No honorific, no sense of self preservation. It made Zenos' face split into a grin. 

"That's right. Now—finish what you started." 

Sapho'li looked from the prince where he stood on the ledge above him to the man now trembling and trying to stand his ground. 

"Go on! Show me if this new weapon of yours is worth anything against men like him." Zenos called, the dulcet tones of his voice echoing down on the other men who—fearing they might be asked to take their compatriot's place—backtracked. 

Violet eyes searched upwards, as if he were unsure whether or not he was being tricked. He had been tricked many times before all in the name of their so-called science. So be it. They were going to kill him today anyway. 

A light shone around him and another burst of light met his unsuspecting victim with more howling and screaming. His oponent picked up the magitek blade and swung it wildly, but to little avail as he stumbled and fell—the overaspected light aether that Sapho'li rocketed at him not unlike countless bullets. 

It did not take long for the cries to stop. 

The men in the room had gone silent—this was not the outcome they'd expected or come to glut themselves on, but a reminder of their own mortality even against the people of the lands they considered so beneath them. Zenos on the other hand, appeared to be in high spirits. 

He alone began to clap, his heart quickened at the thought of someone so willing to fight to survive to the bitter end, even though he would likely die for it; to fight for just one more desperate second of life. 

"Yes, yes—this has been quite enlightening! And to think, these men thought fit to dispose of a specimen like you? You were taken for aetheric research and moved here with the others suspected of possessing the Echo, were you not?" 

"Yes," Sapho'li answered shortly. Now, this seemed like an even greater danger. Mayhap it would be better to have been killed. 

"Bring me his file and any belongings he might have." Zenos commanded to no one in particular: someone would see it done, surely there was someone in the room who was his overseer. 

"You Sapho'li Rasasiri, will come with me." 

The Miqo'te froze, unsure of where he what he was meant to do in immediate response. He thought of the last few masters he'd torn through. No deaths of course; he wasn't _trying to die_ honest, but he'd used his magic to put one man into a coma in an attempt to get away from him. He'd stopped learning their names. The Garlean tongue was unwieldy and unpleasant to him. He only wondered at the fact that he hadn't been killed yet, as bitterly as he had fought from his youth until now. 

Sapho'li thought about his last master's small but many-levelled manor and his perpetually weeping wife. She had insisted on petting his tail and ears as if he were some house cat. It wasn't so bad, until their eldest son had tried to strangle him for fighting him off. Even as he stood there, the room shifting around him like sand as Zenos held his hand out to him over the edge of the railing that surrounded the pit, he wondered what point there was in fighting. He wasn't getting out. He'd never be able to return to the forest even if he did. The Elementals would surely see him as tainted. The treehedge would never let him through. 

Another change, another man who saw him as his property and little else—this one just a bit more likely to ensure he died and stayed dead if he acted up. It was almost a relief. He scrambled at the stone enclosure until he could reach Zenos' outstretched arm and took a moment to marvel at how easily he lifted him with just the one hand. It was a lifeline; his golden wire, lifting him out of the pit he had been meant to die in. He'd never admit that it gave him the smallest spike of hope, but for what he had no name. 

The scientists and soldiers scurrying about gave them a wide breadth, making everything feel as though it had slowed to the pace of syrup. Like being under water. Sapho'li found himself staring into Zenos' ribcage, covered in thin but ornate leather armor and a regal white coat that dripped in gold thread. He had to crane back to look at anything else, and he wasn't sure that the prince would care for him trying. 

He was shaken from his reverie by an odd but undeniable laugh—almost a giggle. For this, he did bother craning his neck to look at the prince's face. "You look terrible. Like you've seen a ghost. Come, this place bores me to tears already." 

Sapho'li nodded, the syrupy sense of deja vu leaving him disoriented. He was tired and overstimulated was all. He had lived his life in darkness, thrown into broom closets and muzzled like a wild animal for refusing anything but his freedom. He had followed Zenos in silence for some time before he finally formulated a question, rough on his creaking voice. 

"What do you want with me?" 

Another one of those odd laughs, that he now realized came laced with surprise. He supposed Zenos wasn't used to people daring to speak so plainly or flippantly with him. Sapho'li's tail lashed behind him as he fought to keep pace with the much taller man's pointed strides, and pressed in closer to avoid the occasional stare from passersby. 

"Quite a question. I am the crown prince. I can have whatever I like." He said, but there was a surprisingly lack of frigidity in it. It was nearly playful: challenging. 

"You've got bad taste in slaves." Sapho'li responded. 

"Oh? Is that right? Could have fooled me." He mused in response. 

They passed through another wide arch, and he was glad to have mostly left behind all of the garish blue and red neon that the refurbished areas under the palace seemed to favor. This was the palace of Ala Mhigo-- he knew that much, though he'd only gotten glimpses of it in all the time he'd been there, waiting for death. The passing thought, a memory of his childhood made him recall that he'd always wanted to see the place. Ironic that he was now being led into the chambers once occupied by the mad king and his ill-fated family: Lavish royal apartments unlike anything in Eorzea. Even Ul'dah paled in comparison they said—but he'd only ever seen lithographs of that city. How small his world had been, and how much smaller it had become weighed on him even as Zenos' staff shuffled in, waiting at a distance. 

Most royals had their staff shuffling around them and fussing constantly, and yet they didn't even come to take the prince's coat? They seemed wary to approach at all. Sapho'li committed this to memory. He removed his coat of his own accord, draping it on a chair as he drifted through the room. There was something off about him, Sapho'li thought—something almost otherworldly; as if he were detached from this existence in a way that he could very nearly understand. 

Zenos gestured to a maid who stepped forward, curtsying with no lack of hesitation. "You there. I want a bath drawn. Bring whatever fancy things it is the nobles of this land favored, in excess." 

She paused, looking a bit bemused. It was clear she wasn't used to this sort of request from him. Sapho'li stood, feeling out of place in his roughspun clothing-- in tatters. He was sure that he didn't exactly smell very pleasant either. Only at that realization did it dawn on him that all of the 'excess' was for him. He felt heat rising to his face, and his violet gaze fixed on his feet rather than on the rest of the room. 

"You ought to at least be presentable." Zenos mused. "It'll keep The Emperor from complaining—probably." 

Varis was always annoyed by Zenos' choices of companions and entertainment, but he could be kept satisfied so long as he was also kept in the dark, for the most part. Smiling, subservient faces were what would be expected. Zenos loathed it. 

Sapho'li was once again dragged from the haze in his mind by the sound of a sliding door being pushed back. He'd hardly noticed it before, but someone was bowing to Zenos and he was being ushered in by the prince's large hand at the small of his back. The maid from before, and another—waited with trays of bottles and grooming products the likes of which he'd never seen and couldn't name. 

He stared, fixated on the colorful array and didn't hear the click of the prince's tongue. Seemingly at his lack of response, Zenos moved to do the work for him and tugged roughly at the shroud of linen that was covering his torso. Sapho'li reacted with a cringe, his ears pressed back and his tail went bushy as he clutched the rags to his skin. It was humiliating—if only he hadn't been caught off guard-- 

But Zenos had stopped nearly immediately, a knowing look in his eyes that had been so distant up until that point. "You have been terribly misused, haven't you? Don't make me fight you more than I'd like—your bath is getting cold." 

" _My_ bath." Sapho'li answered as if it was only just sinking in. The maids were staring at them with eyes the size of dinner plates, as if they were waiting for something that never came. 

It dawned on him then, that he was being willingly handed something that even most upper-class Garleans would consider luxury. It wasn't being dangled in front of him, or placed there before him to show him his place. He was being welcomed into it. At that, he found Zenos' eyes again, ever unreadable, and unfastened the paltry knots that kept him covered. His dark mahogany skin, laced in a smattering of various unremarkable scars was surprisingly well muscled for a slave that had thwarted every master he'd ever had. He'd not been starved, at any rate. 

Zenos watched the display, reminded of the way his body had moved in battle, hungry for the moment he might have that for himself. There was a scar on his back, not unlike the blood lily that had so viciously torn his opponent apart. His wild hair bounced over his shoulder and then back to cover it as he removed the shroud that covered his waist. Despite his show of resistance a few moments before, Sapho'li seemed to stand with no shame even before the gawking help in the room. 

"Very well," Zenos said, something of a purr of praise in his tone. He flicked his wrist to usher Sapho'li into the hot water and sidled over to sink down next to the ornate bathtub. It began to become clear that Zenos wasn't interested in letting other people do things for him. Probably never had been. Sapho'li resisted the urge to hiss at the temperature change as he sank down into the water and tried to remember what kinds of things-- if anything—he'd overheard about Zenos. Most people called him a terror, or if they were particularly patriotic, referred to him almost only in regard to his relationship to his father. An enigma to be sure. Why did people fear him? Because he was Garlean, of course. Because he was a born and bred attack dog. 

The Empire's coldest killer reached out and took Sapho'li's hair from his shoulders, pulling it through the water without ever tugging it; with something that must have been like gentleness, not that either of them knew what that was. The chambermaids nearby stood frozen and awkward, clearly having planned on being told to wash the savage for their master—but he seemed to be uninterested in giving over any such role to them. 

"Tch, what a mess. Should've been cut long ago." Zenos muttered. 

At that, Sapho'li reacted sharply, reaching back to yank his hair out of Zenos' fingers, wrapping the ends of it around his own hand to hold it close to his chest. Zenos' response was to raise his brow, lips pursed in a way that could've been amusement or displeasure. 

"You can't keep it like this—I will not take it from you, but you must trust me." He continued. 

Sapho'li nearly laughed. He'd made that mistake twice only ever—but this was the prince. He had no choice but to do as he was told. 

"I know what it is." Zenos continued despite his pet's silence. "This is your pride. Something that they have not thought—or have not been able-- to take from you. Look at me. Do you think I do not understand this?" 

Only at the realization of his meaning did Sapho'li relax at all, and he almost sheepishly relaxed his grip on his own hair. He smoothed it a bit, letting it float on the surface of the water before he turned again to give Zenos his "permission" to touch it again. 

"What is it that you savages favor, some kind of oil isn't it?" 

Sapho'li tried to think, his mind racing. He remembered the smell first, heavy and floral but sweet as jam. "Azeyma rose oil." He muttered. 

Zenos let out a bubble of laughter that was nearly a crow. "That is some fine taste for a slave." 

"I wasn't born a slave. My tribe was proud, seers of the Twelveswood—and where I was born the stuff was plentiful." He snapped in return. "Not like in this cursed dustbowl of a country." 

"I see. Fascinating." It wasn't clear as to whether or not his response was genuine. He chuckled to himself, a foreboding sound that raised goosebumps on the Miqo'te's shoulders. 

It still hadn't really settled in yet: exactly what was happening. He had gone in the space of two hours from being ready to die (while taking as many Garleans with him as he could manage) to being bathed by the crown prince. Sapho'li had lived among countless Garleans who considered him as less valuable than most of their jewelry. This felt like a terrible, terrible honeyed trap—but why not enjoy it while he could? He'd been ready to die. Death could still come for him at any moment. 

Was he wrong for leaning into the only near-gentleness he'd been shown in years? 

Zenos let out a warm hum as he combed some sweet smelling soap through his hair with his fingers, and a wave of exhaustion he hadn't realized he'd been fighting washed over him. The stress, the fear, the mortal danger had had him wound so tightly that every muscle in his body hurt. He sank a bit lower against the edge of the ornate bath tub, shivering slightly. 

"There is much and more of you I should like to see, Sapho'li. Your potential was wasted on the paltry minds of men who only think in numbers. Me, I wish to see your strength: your will to fight. Don't bore me, hm?" He continued. 

Zenos could see the exhaustion catching up with the man—no warrior was infallible after all. He would be no fun as a hunt in such a position, and for this reason he meant to spoil him rotten until he had recovered. Aches must be soothed, hunger sated and so on. He wanted this warrior in peak shape. Wanted him sated and pliable: willing to do as he wished. For some men, such things could be just as fine a motivator to put fight in them as violence. Sapho'li seemed the type. 

The sound of metal—of shears snipping away made the Miqo'te jolt back to full alert, his ears perked. Zenos had told him to trust him—but the idea of this thing that he had clung to for so long, a symbol of his people and his pride was difficult. He held his breath, trying not to look at the maids who seemed to exist in the space as little more than furniture. He didn't like being seen vulnerable like this, though in reality: was he not always vulnerable, at the mercy of those who were in power, who owned him? 

Sapho'li sighed lowly at the sensation of warm water being poured over his head. Really, he'd never been treated like this, not once—and he could get used to it. 

"There." Zenos guided his hand up to his hair that he might feel that he had not been careless and sheared the length, merely tended to the many dead ends and snarls that he'd wound up with over the years. Finally, it laid almost smooth against his shoulders and neck. He reached back to run his fingers through it, marveling at the change. 

"It must've been bad. I... uh. Thank you." Sapho'li managed, feeling a spike of shame at the thought of so readily expressing his gratitude. 

To think of the remnants of his life of neglect scattered on the floor of the opulent washroom of Ala Mhigan royalty was a bit odd and maybe a little too heavy handed for his taste. In another life, perhaps he would've relished the poetry. Now it simply meant that there was too much that he couldn't hope to express, just beyond his reach. Fair enough. Zenos didn't seem to be at a shortage of words to fill in the gaps. That was fine with him. 

"Why do you think I spared you?" The prince asked suddenly as he absently filled the gold-gilt carafe he'd picked up before and poured water over Sapho'li's shoulders. 

"I haven't the slightest. Pity?" He suggested. 

"Pity? Hardly. You fought as though you stood a chance, even though you were guaranteed only death as a reward. Such instincts ought to be rewarded and honed, not discarded or left to... molder in a cell, as it were." He explained. 

"So you want me to fight for you." Sapho'li confirmed, trying not to tense up too much at the suggestion. 

"Oh you will fight. I think you'd do it regardless of the situation or what I do or do not do. You and I... we are alike." He mused. Cool fingers traced the curve of Sapho'li's neck, down to his chest—lingering for a moment. 

"You sound so certain." 

"Call it a hunch. A soul that recognizes another soul." More cryptic nonsense. 

Though—Sapho'li wasn't so sure it was all nonsense. He had felt it too, an odd inability to keep his eyes off of the man from the moment he'd appeared. His heart raced at the memory of him reaching his hand down the stone wall of that pit to pull him out—the fact that he had taken it so quickly without any thought. Was Zenos just that strange or was there a sense of familiarity between them? He decided that thinking on it too much now would do him no good. 

"I've only ever thought of the next moment. I don't know what you want from me, but I've not exactly got the best track record for impressing my keepers." Sapho'li said. Yes, he wanted to survive. He wanted to get out someday, flee for the forests of his homeland—but he was tired. Weary. 

Zenos shifted to the side that he might better face his query, crystal blues watching his dark features. He reached out and with terrifying gentleness nudged Sapho'li's fallen face upwards with a knuckle beneath his chin. 

"Yes, that's it—to live for the moments between seconds. What else is there? We are in the end, just as much beasts as the beasts themselves," He paused again—a flurry of something that was nearly a genuine emotion fleeting across his face. "You are... tired. But you have not given up. You have not stopped fighting. Very good: A blade that is dull might still be honed, but a broken one is of no use to me. You will rest. You will know comfort. Then I shall see your true potential." 

Sapho'li shivered, locked in place by the simple touch. His gaze flicked away, ears pressing down against his head. He didn't like promises, even something so simple as this. 

"Do you fear me?" 

"Shouldn't I?" He asked. "They say... I—you _do_ know what they say about you don't you?" 

"That I'm a killer, bloodthirsty; my own father calls me a monster. Oh, I know what they say." The fact that he had no clear rebuttal sent another shiver down Sapho'li's spine. 

"Well-- _are_ you?" Sapho'li asked, his gaze wandering back up to his face. 

"What am I... A fair question indeed." That hadn't been the question at all, but Zenos seemed the type to infer what he wanted—or perhaps he was simply as mad as they said. 

Sapho'li knew he was playing with fire, but that this could also be his best chance at winning his freedom or some semblance of it. For the first time since he'd been taken captive all those years ago, he considered what it might mean to please someone—and to be willing to go through with it. 

Sapho'li dropped it when no more information was forthcoming and retreated back into his own mind. The prince however, continued his odd but pointed work of picking him over and scrubbing every inch of his body. Had he really become so filthy? How long had it been since he'd last been in a place that could be considered a home or been able to simply walk around outside of a dark cell? And yet still there was the odd question of the déjà vu, the sense of familiarity... 

He hated the Empire. He hated the Garleans—but something about the way that Zenos spoke told him that somehow, he didn't exactly care for the way things were. Something told him that despite being the one wielding power in their situation, that he felt nearly as stifled as he did. He would try to inch forward, try to take the risk of letting him closer. 

It would be better than being in that cell, wouldn't it? He was having a luxurious bath in the palace, not a servant's quarters: not the back rooms. Could he not trust that much, at least? 

There was movement and something said, and Sapho'li brought himself back to the present as the two maids—unremarkable Hyuran girls at a glance—unfolded thick towels the likes of which he'd never touched before, and the prince gave him his hand to help him to his feet. It was bizarre and surreal to find himself wrapped up like that, waited on as if he were a proper citizen; hell like royalty. There was a pause as the girls very swiftly removed themselves from the room when their services were no longer needed, as if they didn't want to linger for even a moment longer than necessary. Something about that settled cold in his bones even as he found himself deposited in the sprawling royal bedchamber once more. 

The warmth of the evening—was it night? He had no idea and had long lost the ability to keep track of it in his cell—seeped into him to replace the chill. Sapho'li watched the prince casually cast the doors to a wardrobe open. He picked through it as Sapho'li pulled the towels closer in around himself. 

"Here, this ought to do." Anything in Zenos' size would have been something that the smaller man would just swim in. 

With what seemed to nearly be a little smirk on the prince's lips, he draped a silken robe over the Miqo'te's shoulders. It was likely meant to be a top, but on him it nearly reached his knees. 

"Is it to your liking?" 

Sapho'li, still mildly in shock cast his violet gaze upward. He drifted slowly towards the center of the room. For a moment he thought about asking permission to sit and then decided not to. He wrapped the robe around himself and toweled at the ends of his hair as he settled on the edge of the bed of his own volition. Even its size was a bit intimidating. 

"I've never felt its like." It was true. Silk was far beyond the woven linen and leather of his people, and he'd rarely been dressed in anything but the most basic tunic by those who he had fallen into the possession of over the years. 

"Good. Then you shall feel a good many new wondrous things—and you shall show me more of your magic." As he spoke, Zenos knelt before him, crystal blue eyes locked on his unflinchingly. 

It made his heart race; he was a rabbit in a snare. 

"That's all you want?" Sapho'li asked, his tone low and quiet. 

How long would it be before he became a broken toy, easily discarded—or something that hardly lived up to his master's expectations? Though he had to admit, he knew about the prince's inner circle. The only faces he seemed to trust were not exactly shining paragons of perfect success. Aulus Mal Asina was one thing; a face Sapho'li himself hoped not to have to encounter again any time soon. The Naeuri boy who nipped at Zenos' heels was something else altogether. Perhaps he'd end up with a knife between his shoulders while he slept? The thought almost made him laugh. 

Perhaps in the end, Zenos was a terribly lonely creature. 

His tail thumped softly against the bed as the prince lowered his head and rested his cheek against his knee. Sapho'li remained frozen for a moment before he reached out and passed his fingers through strands of flaxen hair like spun gold. A strange thing, this—everything had been strange from the moment that Zenos had a appeared. 

"Yes," Came the somewhat delayed response. "To see eye to eye with understanding. What other way is there, than through violence?" 

The voice was a low purr as Zenos turned his head, lips brushing against the palm of Sapho'li's open hand. How strange it was to be looked at with adoration from someone whose fancy he had only just caught. How oddly invigorated to be looked at with hunger by a man who could give him everything he had never had. How it thrilled him to feel that Zenos looked at him as though he had known him his whole life somehow. Perhaps he was merely deranged. Perhaps he didn't care. 

His mind stopped to remind him: _This man is evil; he is your enemy_ —as Zenos' lips kissed a hot trail up his inner thigh. 

Surely it was meant to be sensual. It _was_ sensual! Just as much as it was calculating and strange. Strange like magic, and the buzz of lightning when a storm was in the air, hanging over the trees. Lightning travelling straight along his spine and to his core. Sapho'li couldn't think of anyone having ever touched him like that. Perhaps in a mockery of it but not ever with true desire. No, not like this-- 

Before teeth nipped at his skin to leave marks, he was already painfully hard: embarrassingly quick to respond. Why shouldn't he be? Why shouldn't he eat up one of the only pleasurable touches he'd ever experienced? His breath came in a shuddered half gasp, a low mewl barely suppressed. Zenos pulled back to gaze heavy-lidded at the sight of him and pushed back the silken fabric barely able to obscure his erection. 

"Magnificent," It was the only thing he said before he gripped Sapho'li's thighs and lapped him into his mouth. 

The Miqo'te jolted, a soft cry leaving him as his hips jerked and betrayed his desire for more. How frequently his body had been used for the pleasure of others—he had so very rarely thought or been able to take it for himself. In the heat of the moment, he did not think on it at all. 

He clenched his fists in the bedsheets, but Zenos' hand came to guide one of his to the back of his head. Sapho'li was rewarded instead with a fistful of that golden hair and a moan as he thrust into his mouth. The idea that it was so freely given—why not take all that he could? 

A low growl of a groan reverberating through his very core made him open his eyes and look down at the prince as he bobbed his head in earnest, the slick slide of his lips along the length of his cock a fevered dream driving him higher and higher. Only then did Sapho'li realize that Zenos had freed himself from his leather breaches and was desperately pumping his own erection as he continued to suck him off. 

With muscles wound tight, trembling, he tightened his grip in the prince's hair and drove himself deeper into his willing mouth, unable to withhold his own sounds of pleasure as he neared climax. He didn't have to think about any of it—He simply let go, and reveled in the way that even a man like this could struggle and choke, tears glistening on his thick lashes as he swallowed and caught his breath. 

Sapho'li quickly pulled free only to slip from the bed and straddle the prince's lap. 

It was with a starved kind of intensity that he wrapped his long fingers around them both, encouraging the impressive girth of Zenos' cock to slide and press against his skin, still hot and slick from the other's mouth. The prince rutted into his grip with the same kind of shameless abandon he himself had shown— _good_. Sapho'li leaned up, his fangs grazing the prince's throat as he jerked and shuddered, still over-sensitive from his own orgasm but loving every twinge of overstimulation as he trembled in the prince's arms—now wrapped tightly round his waist. 

"Like beasts," Zenos muttered against his ear as they curled more tightly around each other, and Sapho'li could feel him winding closer and closer before finally releasing in a flood of warmth that splashed onto his stomach. 

Zenos, the feared and infamous prince of Garlemald shuddering and trembling in post orgasmic bliss was not something that he had ever hazarded a thought about, but the very heat of the moment was addicting. It was a high that he had never known: what was it to be desired, to be looked in the eye and treated as something that was valuable? There was nothing poetic about it—it was quick and dirty and hardly anything to write home about, and yet it was better than he'd ever been given. 

Slowly, Zenos lifted his head and met his eyes. Sapho'li was able to return the gaze but only for a few seconds before his gaze flicked away, cowed by the other man's intensity. The prince shifted and moved, lifting him as if he were little more than a doll; and to him maybe he was, in a way—and deposited the both of them in his bed. 

It was an odd time not to speak, but everything was odd now, for Sapho'li at least. He was tired of letting his limitless rage put him in dark cells where he could only while away the hours wishing for death. If he would have to die, at least let him take all the pleasure he could stand on the way. 

In the silence, Zenos quite politely wiped away the mess on his chest and stomach with the discarded towel from before. He watched him quietly for several long moments, leaving Sapho'li still oblivious to his thoughts—and then pulled him close and turned onto his side. He seemed to sleep quickly and easily for a man whose atrocities were whispered about in every corner of the Empire. He'd not have been able to move if he wanted to, and despite the fluttering of his rabbit heart, Sapho'li too managed to drift off to sleep.


End file.
